Allé est mon coeur
by TragedyBunny
Summary: It's time for Erik and Christine to say goodbye


_Phantom copyright ALW and Leroux_

"Please Mademoiselle, if only for a few minutes, it would mean the world to him." I glared at the Persian man before me, irritatedly tapping my foot.

"Why should I care what he feels or wants? After all that he has done, I should care not if he lives or dies." It killed me inside to speak those words to him, but the truth was I was afraid to go back there. I was a coward, afraid of my own feelings which I'd smothered for quite a long time.

"That is just it, Mademoiselle Christine, he is dying. He only wants to see you one last time." My angel, dying alone in his cellar?

"Impossible! Erik is strong, he will be fine." I could feel my heart battering my rib cage, my blood coursing into my brain.

"Here is the key to the gate at the Rue Scribe, if you come to terms with yourself and wish to say goodbye. He wished that I should give it back to you." The tiny gold key was no sooner closed in my fingers than the man who was still a mystery vanished from my apartment.

For a long while I could not move, I simply stood dumbstruck, contemplating the object in my palm. Could my Erik truly be dying?

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The old route from the Rue Scribe was easy enough to follow, and soon I found myself standing before the door into Erik's home. My hand shook as I reached for the handle. I could not fathom how he would greet me, how I would feel to see him again. Delicately I pushed the door open, careful to make not a sound. Lurking behind that door was a sight that shook me to my very core, causing my teeth to dig into my tongue as I tried to keep myself from panic.

Erik sat before the great organ, still and unmoving. His normally immaculate clothing was torn, wrinkled, and dirty. Where once he wore a wig to cover the hair that grew only in sparse patches, he wore none now. I could see the sparse black locks that somehow maintained a strange sort of luster in the low candlelight. If they had grown into a full head of hair, it would have been beautiful. The kind of tresses a mother would dote on and a wife run her fingers through in the most intimate of moments.

He did not move as I entered, although if he did not hear me or heard me and believed I was the Persian come again I do not know. I hesitated behind him for a moment, unsure. "Erik?" I found my voice unable to rise above a whisper.

As though entranced, he turned his face towards mine. My hands clasped over my mouth in shock and heartache. Erik wore no mask, and seemed completely unaware of it. I knew than that there was indeed something terribly wrong. "Christine, my dear, it is good to see you again. I had not thought you would return for a visit for quite some time."

I wanted to cry when he smiled, for he was truly happy to see me there, even though our parting had wounded him. He rose from where he was seated to come to me. As he approached I could see the ashen gray pallor that had encompassed his skin, gone was the typical tone of unearthly white. The mark of death was upon him, but still I didn't want to accept it. "How have you been my girl? How is your young man?"

"We are both well Erik, but tell me of yourself, how are you faring?"

He shrugged nonchalantly "Well…" He simply shrugged again in lieu of a real answer. "Where are my manners? Would you like a cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely." As he busied himself in the kitchen, I made my way over to the organ. I loved that great instrument; it had been the site of some of the happiest moments in my life, and some of the most frightening. Guilt gnawed at me as I noticed that all the music had been cleared away and a thick layer of dust had accumulated upon it. My poor, forlorn angel. I was brought abruptly back to reality by crash from the living room. I whirled around to Erik sinking to his knees to recover the bits of the teascups he had dropped on the floor.

"Oh…" He began to gather the shards of porcelain into his bare hands. It was but a few seconds before blood appeared seeping from those graceful hands. Without thought I rushed to his side and clasped his hands within my shaking ones.

"Erik, cease this madness! Look at your hands; you won't be able to play again." He clutched the fragments even tighter, turning his once fierce eyes upon me. All the gold had gone out of them, now they stared at me with a hollow, dull yellow, awash with tears.

"It mattes not now, all the music has flown away." I threw my arms around him, in an effort to drag him closer to me as I collapsed on the ground beside him. He fell against me hard, his head coming to rest against my chest in the manner of a child in need of comfort. Sobs began to wrack his skeletal body as he finally let go of the shattered cups. "Christine, don't leave me, please don't, I'm so afraid. Just pretend that you love me, it won't be long, I swear. I just want you to love me."

I chocked back my own bitter tears, as I stroke the face not even a mother could find it in her heart to love. I have sinned so much against him, he who has only ever wanted my love, and wants it still. How could I have left my poor, unhappy Erik down here all alone? God will never forgive me this, I am sure of it.

"Erik, come now, you need rest. Let me put you to bed." I couldn't give him what he wanted to hear, I couldn't find the courage in my traitorous heart to ay the words that would bring him so much comfort. Listless and silent, he allowed me to lead him to the Louis-Philippe room, where I tucked him into my bed. All my wonderful things that he had given me were right where I had left them. My angel had left them for me in case I should ever return. I seated myself next to him on the bed and continued to pet him and sing softly to him until fell into a deep slumber beside me, and left with my seething conscience. I had destroyed my angel and knew not how to bring anything to rights.

With a sigh I lay down next to him and wrapped my arms around his ever so thin torso. My mind was weary, and all I wished was to do was sleep next to him.

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The door to the Louis-Philippe room swung open without a sound, admitting the soft glow from the candles of the out side room, and the shadow of a man. My eyes opened slowly, I could feel Erik's shallow breathing beside me. I grasped him even tighter in my arms. "Who is there?"

"It is I Mademoiselle, Nadir, the Persian." Erik did not stir as I sat up to greet our guest.

"Monsieur, Erik is very unwell, he needs a doctor." My eyes pleaded with him to help me convince Erik against his will.

"He wants to see no doctors." His was so cold, as though Erik's illness gave him no worry at all.

"He's not of a mind to make that sort of decision." His demeanor became one of irritation, as though I were being some stubborn, soiled child.

"Christine," the use of my first name startled me, "Erik is not dying of a illness, he is dying simply because he no longer wishes to live." Tears began to overwhelm me.

"That's a lie! Erik is strong; he would go on living through anything." My voice grew loud enough that Erik stirred beside, his yellow eyes opening slowly. I made a desperate grab for his hands. "Tell him it's not true Erik; tell him how wrong he is." He only stared at me, a blank look on his twisted features.

"Mademoiselle Christine, I think it is time for you to leave." His firm hands wrapped around my shoulders, attempting to part me from Erik. I struggled against him, unwilling to leave my angel.

"Leave me be! Erik needs me; don't you Erik?" I screeched as I flung myself back on the bed beside him. "Erik?" The silence terrified me. "Erik! My angel, speak to me." I shook his near weightless form, pleading with him to answer me. "Erik, Erik, you can't leave me like this. Erik, I love you." My body shook with sobs as Nadir stood a silent sentinel to our parting. "I love you, I love you." I pressed my lips to his, again and again, praying that he would awaken, pleading with God to return my angel. It did not matter, he had flown to heaven, and would not return.


End file.
